


Illegal Activities In Progress

by cleo4u2



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, And bucky is into it, Consensual Underage Sex, Don’t copy to another site, First Time, Knife Play, M/M, Mobster!Steve, Romanticizing mobster life, Sex Dreams, Sexual Tension, Smoking, Steve Rogers Is A Badass, Steve is aggresive, UST, mentions of all kinds of illegal activity, smoking is bad; don’t do it, virgin!bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22215283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleo4u2/pseuds/cleo4u2
Summary: Steve Rogers runs most of New York’s underground: gambling, prostitution, extortion, and the unions. If there’s racketeering going on, Steve Rogers has his fingers in the pie. Bucky’s dad had been proud to be one of Steve’s guys. He’d aid there were some smaller players in the city, other gangs who ran drugs and other small-time operations, but nothing happened in New York City without Steve knowing about it, and getting a cut.Now Bucky’s dad is dead, and Bucky wants to be a part of his legacy. He wants to be an Avenger, one of the best; one of Steve’s guys. He wants to make his father proud. Part of Bucky knows what he’s doing is stupid. Part of him knows it can get him killed. Still, he’s made up his mind. He’s going to join the Avengers and become a mobster like his father if it’s the last thing he does. It very well might be, but he needs to put food on the table.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 75
Kudos: 329





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my incredible beta, [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/profile) who puts up with me not posting fic she's had beta'd for months.

Steve Rogers, the head of the Avengers crime organization, is not the kind of man you cross lightly. Bucky doesn’t know much about his father’s connections with him, but he knows that. 

Everyone knows that.

The whole city knows it. 

Steve Rogers runs most of New York’s underground: gambling, prostitution, extortion, and the unions. If there’s racketeering going on, Steve Rogers has his fingers in the pie. Bucky’s dad had been proud to be one of Steve’s guys. He’d said there were some smaller players in the city, other gangs who ran drugs and other small-time operations, but nothing happened in New York City without Steve knowing about it, and getting a cut. 

Now Bucky’s dad is dead, and Bucky wants to be a part of his legacy. He wants to be an Avenger, one of the best; one of Steve’s guys. He wants to make his father proud. Part of Bucky knows what he’s doing is stupid. Part of him knows it can get him killed. Still, he’s made up his mind. He’s going to join the Avengers and become a mobster like his father if it’s the last thing he does. It very well might be, but he needs to put food on the table.

He’d gotten the idea at the funeral. It was the first time he’d laid eyes on Steve Rogers, or any Avenger besides his father. His dad had kept his business far from home at his mother’s request, so all Bucky knows about the gang comes from his father’s stories and a few overheard conversations. Seeing Steve Rogers in person, watching him shake his mother’s hand, had cast it all in a new light. 

Bucky hadn’t actively pictured the crime boss before, but if he had, his image would have been completely off the mark. Steve Rogers was more than six feet of solid muscle in a fitted grey suit. His hair was slicked back, dulling the shine of his blond hair to a dirty brown. Bucky’s pretty sure he’d spotted the bulge of a gun along his side, but the suit had been tailored to hide it so he wasn’t sure. There was an energy behind Steve’s blue eyes, powerful and commanding, that really captivated Bucky. Even his father hadn’t had that kind of inner strength. 

Bucky wants that; needs to learn how to be it. He’s never wanted anything more. Finding the overdue bills on the kitchen table that night cinched it. Someone like Steve Rogers would know how to make ends meet. Someone like Steve Rogers would take care of his family, like his father used to, and like Bucky needs to now.

Standing in front of a warehouse in DUMBO, hands clenched, Bucky tries to remember that feeling of resolve. The place is clean, but poorly lit, and not a little foreboding. Or maybe that’s the skinny guy watching him from beside the door. His brown eyes are hard, and glint in the light from the sole street light on the block. His purple suit coat can easily conceal all manner of weapons, from knives to guns to… Bucky doesn’t know. What he does know is that if he isn’t confident and sure, he’s going to end up dead.

“You lost, kid?” the guy calls, breaking their silent staring contest.

“No.” Bucky takes a breath to steady himself. “I’m looking, um, for Steve Rogers?”

So much for being calm and confident.

“Steve Rogers…” The man crosses his arms and puffs a frosty breath into the cool night air. “Not every day the mouse chases down the cat.”

Bucky’s spine stiffens at the insult, but he can imagine he’ll get nowhere by antagonizing the guy guarding the door to Rogers’ base of operations.

“He was at my dad’s funeral last week, a-and I wants to thank him.”

The man tilts his head to the side and looks Bucky up and down.

“You’re Freddie’s kid? ‘Spose you do look like Winnie ‘round the eyes…” He purses his lips, then smiles again. “Okay, sure; let’s see what the boss has to say.”

Keeping his grin in check, Bucky hurries forward as the guy moves to open the door. To his surprise, it opens onto a steep staircase. A bare bulb at the bottom illuminates a grey concrete floor, windowless brick walls, and a card table with four chairs that barely fit inside the tiny room. A metal door leads to the rest of the warehouse, shut tight and locked with an electronic keypad to the right of the handle. 

A woman sits playing cards at the table with a young man. She’s gorgeous, with fine, delicate features, and so is he. In fact, the only difference between them is their hair. Hers is dark red and long, curling about her shoulders, while his is short and the whitest shade of blond Bucky has ever seen. Both stare at them as they descend the stairs, bright brown eyes with the identical expressions of curious hostility. 

Bucky is keenly aware of the pistols lying by their elbows; hers black and small, his silver and huge. The tension in their arms suggests they can grab those weapons and kill him in seconds if he so much as twitches the wrong way.

“Pietro, get the door,” Bucky’s guide orders before their feet hit the concrete.

The man lays his cards facedown on the table and says, “No cheating.” 

Instead of heading to the metal door, he heads past them, outside. The heavy door they just crossed through thumps shut as the woman sets down her own cards.

“Who’s the kid?” she asks Bucky’s guide in a surprisingly musical voice; the man’s had been as rough as gravel scraped across a highway.

His guide crosses his arms impatiently.

“Freddie’s son. He wants to see the boss.”

The woman’s gaze fixes on Bucky, no longer hostile, but still curious. As she takes the measure of him all over again, Bucky straightens and tries to stand like Rogers: menacing, confident, and casual all at once. From the twitching of her lips as she gets to her feet, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t pulled it off. 

“His funeral, I guess,” she says, as a light on the keypad turned from red to blue. 

A hydraulic hiss heralds the door’s swinging inward. The small room is instantly filled with the smell of cigarette smoke and the soft sounds of jazz. The implied threat of the woman’s words is forgotten as Bucky follows his guide into the next room. The space isn’t the full length of the warehouse, but it is big enough to fit a dozen, round, wooden tables and matching, brass-studded chairs inside. The music is being piped out of a jukebox to the left, while the wall to the right of the door is packed with T.V.s, all playing different channels, and all eerily silent. On the far side of the room is a full-length bar between two heavy steel doors identical to the one they’ve just passed through. Bottles line the shelves behind the hardwood, while plush red stools crowd the front. Half a dozen men and women are gathered at the bar with drinks or cigarettes in hand.

All are staring at Bucky.

Bucky tries to take it all in, every small piece of this place in which his father had worked, but all he can see is Steve Rogers looking between him and his guide with mild interest. He’s even more striking without the suit coat. The sleeves of his white button-down are rolled up to his elbows to expose veiny, muscled forearms. In one hand he holds a glass of amber alcohol, fingers wrapped carelessly about the rim. In the other is a lit cigarette dangling from long, strong fingers. A smile is fading from his lips, making his face warm and open while it lingers.

The room feels colder when it’s gone.

Rogers says, “Clint,” and the single word communicates so much. ‘_Explain_,’ and, ‘_It better be good_,’ all while telling Bucky to keep his mouth shut. Bucky needs to know how to do that.

“He wanted to see ya, boss,” Clint explains. “Says he’s Freddie’s kid, so I couldn’t just scare him off.”

Steve doesn’t respond. He turns his gaze to Bucky and waits. The look is terrifying.

“My dad,” Bucky’s throat clicks when he swallows and he tries again, “My dad’s dead.” No one speaks and Bucky tries to remember what he wanted to say. The words he’d planned are gone. “He worked for you, said you were the best.” One of the others at the bar shifts and the stool creaks. “But now he’s dead and my mom, she’s trying, but there’s four of us and she can’t keep up. We’re gonna lose the house.”

The expression on Steve’s face doesn’t change, but there’s a quiet menace to the words when he says, “So you’ve come for a handout.” 

“No!” Bucky insists, insulted by the insinuation that he’s a leech. It gives him the fire to say, “I came for a job!”

Someone snickers in the silence that follows the declaration, but any amusement at Bucky’s expense dies quickly as a small woman with burgundy curls flicks ash from her cigarette and says, “If we’re the best, what use do we have for you?”

“Always need hands at the shop,” a tanned man with a black goatee says absently. “How old are you, anyway?”

“He’s seventeen,” Steve says. The crime boss hasn’t taken his eyes from Bucky, even as the others spoke, and Bucky’s gaze is drawn right back to those cold, blue eyes.

“So am I,” Clint says from Bucky’s side.

Several voices rise and fall again as Steve lifts a hand.

“James, right?”

Bucky swallows again, but lifts his chin as he says, “Bucky.”

“Bucky, then. Freddie didn’t want this life for you. That’s why you’re going to that charter school with your sisters. That’s why it’s paid for.” 

Bucky blinks in surprise, but he’s here for a job, not a dismissal. 

“Mister Rogers,” he begins, but Steve holds up his hand again and Bucky’s mouth closes with a snap. Another trick he needs to learn.

“Your father was a good man, a good soldier, and I take care of my own. Go back to school. Worry about the things teenagers are supposed to worry about. There’s no job for you here.”

Bucky is shaking. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

“But, the house-”

“I take care of my own,” Steve repeats, interrupting once more. A hand lands heavily on Bucky’s shoulder. “Go home.”

The hand on Bucky’s shoulder squeezes and forcefully turns him around. No one says a word as he’s guided back the way he’d come. Not even Bucky. He doesn’t know what to say that won’t be begging. A Barnes didn’t beg, his father always said. They earned their way, worked hard, and were proud of it. If Steve wasn’t going to give him a job, couldn’t see that his family didn’t need charity, Bucky would have to show him.

As they pass through the little watch room, the red-head asks, “He’s not dead?”

Clint doesn’t respond, and for that Bucky’s grateful. What _has_ been said is humiliating enough, and the woman’s question is salt in the wound.

Outside, Clint releases Bucky and gestures for the other man to head back inside. He leaves without a word, but Bucky’s out of charitable feelings. Really, he should leave entirely, but he turns to face Clint instead.

“You’re really just seventeen?” he asks.

As he scans the dimly lit street, Clint nods.

“Started working as a runner a few years back.” Satisfied by the empty street, he meets Bucky’s gaze. “I don’t know why you think you want this, but if your dad cared enough to set you up with a nice life far from all this, you should take it.”

Bucky scowls, jaw muscles tightening as he holds back his irritation.

“My dad is dead. I can’t ask him what he wanted, and he can’t ask me.”

Clint shrugs.

“That don’t change the boss’ answer, kid.”

Hands clenching into fists, Bucky spits, “I ain’t a kid!” but Clint only shrugs again before turning away like Bucky isn’t even there.

Spinning on his heel, Bucky stomps down the street. He doesn’t know how, but he’s going to prove himself to Steve. He’s going to make Steve see that he’s worth the time to mentor. If he doesn’t, if he misses this opportunity to learn from someone as incredible as Steve Rogers, he’ll regret it for the rest of his life.

Halfway to his subway station, Bucky sees it. It’s parked by the sidewalk like it isn’t anything special. Bucky knows better. He’s seen it before. Classic silver lines and spotless from end to end, _that_ is Steve Rogers’ car.

Bucky grins. He knows exactly what he’s going to do.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a bad month to be Steve Rogers. The F.B.I. found themselves a rat, and the Avengers’ rival gang, Hydra, is making a move on his territory. That’s how he lost Freddie. The sons of bitches stole a truckful of blackmarket goods Steve had smuggled into the country for a rich buyer, and they’d killed one of Steve’s best guys in the process. With the F.B.I. watching them so closely, he hasn’t had a chance to make them pay.

Yet.

Before he can collect the pound of flesh he’s owed, he has to go rodent hunting. Once Dot is taken care of, the F.B.I. will be off his tail long enough that he can send some guys to deal with Pierce and his Hydra blowhards. Natasha is chaffing for some revenge, as well as to recover the cargo they lost.

Losing his tail hadn’t been easy, but Clint and Wanda had been inspired by a shell game. Three silver sports cars, some fast driving, and several hours later Steve is free. For a long enough to deal with Dot, at least.

Pulling into the parking lot of his motel, Steve stays in his car for nearly twenty minutes just watching the traffic driving past to see if any turn around to join him. When he’s satisfied he hasn’t been followed, he puts the car in park and goes to book a room for night. Doing so mostly consists of ignoring the young man behind the counter as he continues to keep an eye on the parking lot. No one else is interested in staying at the backwoods motel, though. Honestly, Steve wasn’t either. Even being the only motel in these hills, it obviously wasn’t used very often. The kid behind the counter had even been shocked to see him. He hasn’t stopped chattering happily, either, just pleased to have someone to talk to. The only things the place has going for it is that it doesn’t smell, and he isn’t likely to end up with bedbugs as company.

The kid finally passes over Steve’s room key and wishes him a good night. Steve murmurs a farewell and goes to move his car out of sight behind the motel. At this point, it’s unlikely that he’ll encounter a tail, but Steve hasn’t gotten this far by being careless.

Which is why he pays attention when there’s a thump from the trunk.

If he weren’t on such an important job, Steve would have simply fired the shotgun he has in his back seat into the trunk and been done with it. The sound would draw too much attention, though, so he slips a custom set of brass knuckles over his fingers and silently moves to the rear of the car. Surprise is the name of the game, so Steve flings the trunk open and throws a punch before he has registered more than the location of the person’s head. 

Luckily for Bucky, Steve did recognize him in time to pull his brass enhanced blow. It wouldn’t save the kid’s pretty face, but the _thowck_ of Steve’s fist connecting was far from the sickening sound of broken bones. 

“Fuck!” Steve shouts, as Bucky cries out in pain. The young man in his trunk holds his face in his hands and bracing for another blow. Part of Steve wants to give it for being so damn stupid, but that’s not a part of himself he listens to often.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Steve grumbles while grabbing the kid’s arm to pull him from the tight space he’s been hiding in for who-knows-how-long. “If you’re still conscience, you’ll be just fine.”

Steve struggles not to roll his eyes when Bucky says, “You hit me.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.” Steve gives the arm he’s holding a little shake. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um,...” The half of Bucky’s face not covered by his hand turns red. “I want to help.”

“Help,” Steve repeats incredulously. 

Keeping a tight hold of Bucky’s arm, Steve drags him toward his room. If this were a cartoon, smoke would have been pouring from his ears. _This_ is why he didn’t want kids around. Few were as talented as Clint, and they were all careless. Steve had one shot at Dot, and he couldn’t blow it.

_You can’t have witnesses, either_, a cold, logical part of his mind reminds him. He ignores it - for now - and opens his motel room.

Shoving Bucky inside, he snaps, “Stay,” before stomping over to the ice machine. 

Bucky’s presence is bad, but there’s little to be done about it. It’s _Freddie’s_ kid, after all. Steve can’t kill him, even if he is a witness to Steve’s whereabouts the night before Dot dies. He can’t send him away, not when doing so will either give the F.B.I. a chance to pick up his trail, or create yet another witness. And Bucky being gone won’t stop him from proving that Steve hadn’t been here. Once Dot is dead, just that one person testifying he was in this backwater today will be enough to take him to trial. Getting arrested would embolden Pierce and all his problems would compound themselves.

If Bucky kills Dot it could solve all his problems. An induction by blood isn’t uncommon in Steve’s line of work, but it isn’t the way Steve likes to ensure his people are loyal. Fear works, keeps a man quiet if he’s afraid of going to prison for the rest of his life, but it has the potential to backfire spectacularly.

Steve sighs and grabs two handfuls of ice before heading back to his room. He can’t make Bucky kill Dot. He’s just a kid. There’s only one option left and that’s to trust Freddie’s son. He’ll take Bucky on the kill, though, and if he’s lucky that will ensure he’ll never see Bucky again.

When Steve enters his room, Bucky’s sitting on the motel’s queen bed, hands tucked between his knees. Maybe he’s realized how much trouble he’s in, but it’s a little too late for remorse. He hasn’t tried to run, though, and Steve has to give him credit for that.

Steve doesn’t say a word until he’s wrapped the ice in a towel from the bathroom and Bucky’s pressed it to his already-swollen and bruised eye. 

“Do you have any idea why I’m here?”

Bucky shakes his head, but keeps his eyes on the floor and doesn’t speak. Steve almost sighs; the kid looks like a kicked puppy.

“How did you plan on helping, then?”

Bucky stares at the floor, but Steve waits him out.

At last, Bucky admits, “I… I don’t… know.” Then he promptly clenches his jaw, squares his shoulders, and meets Steve’s gaze. Again, Steve’s impressed. Most men who know who he is couldn’t do that. “But I know if I didn’t, if I didn’t _make_ an opportunity happen, then I’d never get a shot.”

Steve holds Bucky’s gaze, making sure not to blink, as he considers the words. Such determination is admirable; Steve hasn’t gotten where he is by letting fate pass him by. It doesn’t change that Freddie hasn’t wanted this life for his son. How is Steve supposed to give his friend what he wanted when the kid is so damn stubborn?

Coldly, Steve asks, “Why do you think I want someone who can’t follow orders to work for me?” Bucky opens his mouth, but Steve keeps going, choosing his words carefully. “I told you to go home, but here you are, exactly the last place I would want you, because you thought you knew better than me.” Bucky swallows, so Steve leans forward and lowers his voice. “I should kill you and be done with it. No distractions, no _witness_, no chance for tomorrow to go to hell.”

Bucky’s gulp is audible. His big, blue eyes are wide and frightened, just like Steve wants. He’s seen too many kids like Bucky die because they thought this life is a game, or glamourous, or that they’re invincible. 

Taking a step forward, Steve covers Bucky’s hand with his own, and presses the ice harder against Bucky’s face. As Bucky winces, he says, “You’re lucky you’re Freddie’s kid.”

“So,” Bucky’s throat clicks, “you’re not gonna…?”

“No.” Steve pauses, lets the silence stretch. “But you may wish I had, after tomorrow.”

Despite everything, light sparkles in Bucky’s eyes, though he manages to control his smile. The effect is surprisingly beautiful, and when Bucky doesn’t crow over his plan working, Steve reluctantly admits he’s smart, too. Neither thought is one Steve wants to have. Hell, if things were different, Bucky probably would have gone far in the organization.

“You bring a change of clothes?” Steve asks, though he already knows the answer. It’s still nice to watch Bucky flush a soft pink and shake his head. “Then I suggest you strip down so you don’t smell tomorrow. The car ride won’t be short.”

Bucky looks about the hotel room as if seeing it for the first time. Emotions flick rapidly across his face as he takes it in: the one bed, no chairs or a couch, the door to the cramped bathroom, and the only bed again. The previous blush has brightened to a crimson flush that captures his entire face and creeps down his neck. Steve finally lets himself smile, but has to correct his thoughts when they wonder how far that blush spreads. Handsome as Bucky is, as attractive as he finds his embarrassed glow, Bucky is only seventeen. He’s not even legal, though a good part of Steve is amused that _this_ is the line he won’t cross.

Bucky clears his throat.

“Um, so, I’m on the floor?”

Because Bucky looks like he might die of embarrassment (and Steve is enjoying this too much), Steve says, “Why? The bed’s plenty big enough for two.” Steve thinks Bucky might have stopped breathing. “It’s not like I knew to get two beds, but I can’t change that now.” That isn’t a lie, either. No one is to know Steve is out here, but if anyone finds out he’s in a room with two beds, that would point them straight at Bucky.

To Steve’s surprise, Bucky doesn’t object. He clears his throat and pulls his shirt over his head. While Steve had made the suggestion, he had expected Bucky to refuse. Yet, Bucky is tossing his shirt aside and unbuttoning his pants. Steve now knows that fierce crimson color descends down Bucky’s chest, contrasting with his brown nipples and complimenting his toned abs. He also knows Bucky is braver than Steve expected, and his mouth is suddenly dry.

Turning away, he goes to the bathroom for a towel. Part of him wants to head back out there and see if that embarrassment means what he thinks it does. Bucky’s young, gorgeous, spunky, and smart. He also has enough courage to overcome his nerves. That’s the kind of guy Steve likes. The fact that Bucky is likely a virgin doesn’t help, not when Steve is a possessive man. The kind of man to get off knowing no other man has fucked Bucky before, or would have shown him the pleasure Steve could if he just took what he wanted.

Taking a breath, Steve reminds himself that Bucky is only seventeen, and returns to the bedroom. Bucky is naked on the bed, his hands between his legs, hiding his cock. For a moment, Steve imagines pulling his hands away, leaving Bucky bare just for him.Then he pushes the image aside and offers Bucky the soft, white cloth to cover himself.

There’s actually disappointment in Bucky’s eyes as he takes it and Steve has to breathe slowly through his nose. Desire is not an emotion he’s used to controlling. He hasn’t had to before.

Bucky asks, “What, um, are we doing? Tomorrow?” as Steve turns to his suitcase.

Steve almost tells him he’s so distracted. “Business,” he says when he catches himself. He can’t give Bucky a chance to run off in the night and alert the authorities. He won’t get this opportunity to deal with Dot (and get away with it) again.

“Yeah, but what kind of business?” 

Taking off his jacket and folding it over his arms, he turns and gives Bucky a hard look. To his credit, Bucky doesn’t continue inquiring, just lowers his gaze before reaching for the T.V. remote. 

Steve turns back to his suitcase to finish getting ready for bed, but the T.V. doesn’t switch on. Instead, Bucky says, “Thanks. I mean, for not kicking me out, or… You know…”

“Your dad was a good friend.” Steve doesn’t turn around, unsure how his words will affect Bucky and wanting to give him privacy if he needs it. “I didn’t just lose a soldier when he passed; the least I can do is take care of his son.”

Bucky stays silent, so Steve finishes stripping down. Oly when he turns around does the T.V. turn on. Steve climbs into bed. Even with his head turned, he can see the redness around Bucky’s eyes. Comfort isn’t something he knows how to offer, so he doesn’t try. He just appreciates that he isn’t thinking about defiling the kid any longer.

\----

The silence in the room is only broken by the T.V. It’s not awkward, though. Bucky has shifted up the bed in his towel and is leaning against the headboard at Steve’s side. Their shoulders brush now and then as Steve uses his phone. It’s comfortable, even though Bucky is naked except for some terry cloth and Steve is only wearing boxes, a white tank top, and nothing else. There had been a moment where Bucky thought Steve might eat him, but he hadn’t (much to Bucky’s disappointment). He’s glad he didn’t, now that this moment is more intimate than Bucky thinks sex would have been.

Admittedly, Bucky wishes he could have both.

When the crime documentary Bucky’s enjoying ends, Steve sets his phone down. By unspoken agreement, Bucky turns off the T.V. and they settle under the covers, Bucky on his side, his back to Steve. A smooth leg brushes his and Bucky jumps. Steve snorts in amusement as the leg pulls away, and then the light turns off. 

Bucky tries to breathe, but now his heart is racing and his nerves are alight in anticipation of another touch, even the shift of the bed as Steve moves. He wants Steve to roll over and touch him. Pull away the towel, wrap a hand around his cock, kiss him breathless as he comes. It’s not much of a surprise after the sexual tension from earlier, but it’s also the first time Bucky has fantasized about someone he knows. Someone he’s sharing a bed with.

It doesn’t happen. Steve’s breathing slows, he doesn’t move, and Bucky tries to follow suit. Between his excitement and disappointment and grief, it takes him a long time.

Just as he’s drifting off, an arm wraps around Bucky’s waist. His eyes fly open as he’s pulled back against a firm, muscular chest.

“Mmm,” Steve hums, his lips vibrating against Bucky’s ear. “I just know you’re going to be delicious.”

Bucky shivers, then the breath rushes out of him as Steve’s fingers caress a path down his belly, to the edge of his towel. 

“Steve,” Bucky gasps, drawing a warm chuckle from the man behind him.

“Don’t be shy,” Steve whispers into Bucky’s ear. “You’re too beautiful to hide.”

As he says it, Steve pulls the towel away so there’s only the thin fabric of Steve’s under-things between them. Bucky’s heart slams against his ribs, his breath coming in pants, and all Steve has done is strip him down. He can do anything he wants. Bucky wants it, _all_ of it, and Steve _takes_.

A hand wraps around his cock and another slips down the cleft of his ass to press against his hole. _It’s really happening_, he thinks as his body arches between those two points of contact. Steve squeezes his cock, making him moan, then gasp as that probing fingers slips inside him.

“That’s it,” Steve purrs. “You take it so sweetly.” 

The finger inside him crooks and rubs against his prostate. Bucky bites his lip, one hand grasping at Steve’s wrist, the other clinging to the sheets as his body is overwhelmed by sensation.

“You want it, don’t you?” My cock inside you?”

Bucky lets out a strangled sound, then stops breathing entirely as Steve adds another finger along with the first. The hand on his cock slowly strokes upward, a stark contrast to the rapid thrusting of Steve’s fingers, stroking him from the inside. Steve’s lips are on his jaw, his ear, his neck, kissing and licking and sucking so Bucky knows he’ll be wearing Steve’s marks the next day for everyone to see.

It’s the stretch of the third finger that sends Bucky over the edge. The feeling is almost painful, but the steady caress inside him and out tips him over. He cries out as Steve whispers encouragement into his ear. Come spurts from his cock, over Steve’s hand, and his belly, as his muscles contract. The seconds tick by as his body strains against the pleasure; a long line of tension shouting Steve’s name. Every muscle goes limp at once and Bucky sags back against Steve’s chest.

“Beautiful,” Steve murmurs against his jaw. His hand leaves Bucky’s cock, but the fingers inside him remain; still, but thick and present.

“Are you ready for me now?”

The words chase away the floaty feeling suffusing his head.

“What?”

Steve chuckles.

“I haven’t gotten my pleasure yet.” Steve’s fingers twitch inside Bucky, making him gasp as they briefly press on that spot inside him. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

“Oh, god,” Bucky groans and Steve is rolling him over onto his belly, spreading his legs with his knees, and holding him down with strong, powerful hands over his hips. The thick fingers are gone and something bigger, more bulbous presses against his hole. He shouts Steve’s name as it penetrates him and doesn’t stop. It pushes into him slowly, steadily, never stopping and forcing his body to adjust to take it.

A sob builds in Bucky’s chest as Steve sheathes himself entirely within Bucky’s body. He presses his forehead into the mattress, hands tangled in the sheets, as sweat beads all over his skin. He feels so full, so complete, and then Steve starts to _move_.

“You feel so good,” Steve groans as he pulls out, brushing over Bucky’s prostate in a long caress of pure pleasure. “I can’t stop. I need you.”

“Please,” Bucky cries out, pushing his ass back at Steve. “Please, oh… _Please!_”

“Yes,” Steve grunts and slams back into Bucky, shoving him up the bed. “That’s it. Beg. Beg for my cock.” He pulls out and thrusts in again, making Bucky shout so he can’t speak, can barely breathe for how good it feels. “You’re perfect. I’ll want you all the time now; need to fuck you. This ass, it’s so good. Take it, baby- _fuck_.”

When Steve curses, he really starts to pound into Bucky, his thrusts merciless and powerful. The pleasure builds in his groin again, his cock leaking as it rubs against the sheets. Each pump of Steve’s hips punches the breath out of him in a sharp, “Ah!” that likely penetrates the thin walls of the hotel.

Time seems to stretch. Steve continues praising him, ffucking him, and he’s so close. So close…

“Bucky,” Steve moans.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, but it doesn’t sound right. There’s no pleasure in it, just a sharp bark of his name. Bucky obeys the command in that tone, his eyes opening to see the white sheets beneath him. The pleasure is fading sharply, confusingly, though his arousal remains. Even more strange is that Steve isn’t fucking him. There’s nothing inside him at all.

Bucky is humping the bed and Steve is nowhere nearby.

Swallowing hard, Bucky makes himself look over his shoulder. There’s Steve, at the end of the bed, fully dressed in a navy blue, three-piece suit. The look in his eyes is unreadable, but Bucky is mortified.

It was a dream. The whole thing was nothing more than a dream.

“We’re leaving in fifteen minutes,” Steve says as if Bucky hadn’t been rutting against their shared bed. “Take a shower and get dressed. I’ll be in the car.”

Then he’s walking out the door and Bucky wants to die. His cock does, deflating swiftly. He can’t dawdle, though. As mortified as he is, he’s aware enough to know he can’t blow this chance. If this humiliation didn’t make Steve give up on him, he can’t call it quits.

Scrambling off the bed, Bucky hurries into a cold shower. Whatever job they’re about to do, he won’t let this stop him.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky joins Steve in the car fourteen minutes later. It’s fourteen minutes Steve uses to forget what he’d woken up to. Bcky’s tight, round butt pressed so Steve’s cock slid effortlessly between firm cheeks. It had taken him a ridiculously long time to realize what was happening, and longer to stop grinding against that young, perfect ass. 

Steve had managed to climb from the bed without waking Bucky, or knocking him out from what seemed to be a great dream. A dream Steve had starred in, as Bucky had moaned his name several times while Steve got dressed. By the time he’d been ready to go and shouted Bucky from his sleep, he’d needed every second to will away his own arousal.

Part of him hadn’t expected Bucky to show after that morning's incident. Yet Bucky had slid into the car with a minute to spare, wet hair curling over his forehead, and only a light blush on his cheeks. Steve is starting to think that he shouldn’t underestimate this kid. Wordlessly, Steve pushes a white bag with a chocolate doughnut over and puts the car in drive. 

It’s probably best that they don’t speak, especially as it’s Steve who had escaped without showing his desire. Bucky is so stubborn, Steve knows he would have _another_ fight on his hands if he knew that his desire is mutual. Steve won’t defile a child. That’s a line he won’t cross, even if his dick isn’t getting memo. If he’s lucky, dealing with Dot will put an end to Bucky’s infatuation, and the temptation will be entirely gone.__

_ _The bag crinkles as Bucky opens it, then eats his breakfast. It’s the only sound in the car as they drive north to the little house the Feds are using to stash Dot. A lot of money had gotten him the location, as well as the information on how many agents are guarding the place. Steve’s plan hadn’t accounted for a tag-a-long, though._ _

_ _When they’re half-way there, Steve says, “You have a choice. Stay in the car, or come with me.” Bucky turns to look at him and Steve can see the impulsiveness in his eyes. “Before you answer, I’m here to deal with a rat. I will not give you a gun. You will follow behind me, and if the people shooting at me hit you, we will not go to a hospital. There’s a doctor in the city, but he’s hours away. The car will be safest.”_ _

_ _Bucky’s mouth closes on his first answer. Steve is pleased he isn’t just bulling his way through, or insisting on coming without thinking about it. The reality of the situation is at least sinking in, and Bucky’s hands shake before he clenches them into fists._ _

_ _“I…” Bucky clears his throat. “I’ll be in your way, won’t I?”_ _

_ _It’s not what Steve expected to be asked. He’d expected Bucky to object to Steve’s mission, ask what Dot had done, demand a gun, or even say he’d stay in the car. He certainly hadn’t expected Bucky to consider how his answer would affect Steve._ _

_ _“Yes,” Steve says, but keeps his voice gentle to take the sting from the truth._ _

_ _Bucky nods, then mutters, “I’ll stay in the car.”_ _

_ _That’s not ideal either, as Steve won’t be able to leave the car running, or even keep the keys in the ignition, but at least he won’t have to worry about Bucky getting hurt._ _

_ _“That’s a good choice,” Steve finds himself saying. “Being smart is better than being brave. Being stupid gets people kiled.”_ _

_ _From the corner of his eye, Steve catches the small smile on Bucky’s face at the compliment. It makes him far too happy to see, so he focuses on the road and allows the silence to resume as he pulls off the highway onto a service road. It’s a short way from Dot’s safehouse, close enough he can park and walk the rest of the way. He makes sure he’s far enough along to be hidden from view, then grabs his duffle from the backseat. _ _

_ _Bucky watches him silently, chewing on his full, bottom lip as Steve unpacks his shotgun, Colt .45, and extra ammo for both. Steve wants to reassure him, but he’s not stupid. What he’s about to do is dangerous, and though he’s confident in his own skills, sometimes the other guy is better._ _

_ _Steve is shoving his keys into his pocket when Bucky asks, “What do I do if you don’t come back?”_ _

_ _It’s on the tip of his tongue to say, “Hitch-hike home,” but he doesn’t. Ignoring his own advice, he says, “I’ll be back.” The confidence in his tone looks to settle Bucky’s nerves and he actually smiles as Steve shrugs into his shoulder holster. Steve likes it, likes knowing he put that look on Bucky’s face. _ _

_ _Which is so stupid. There’s just something about him that steals the last of Steve’s senses. After all, the plan was to chase Bucky off, not make him think everything is going to be fine._ _

_ _Slamming the car door, he mumbles curses at himself and heads up the mountainside. He does not look back, especially because he wants to. If he doesn’t get his head in the game, he’s going to lose it._ _

_ _And break his promise._ _

_ _Dot’s safehouse is well off the beaten path, but the Feds will have set up some sort of surveillance. Steve avoids the drive, as it will have the most coverage, and keeps an eye out for cameras in the trees. They’re fairly east to spot, but not so easy to avoid, as whoever put them up knew how to cover an area. He ends up having to walk halfway around the property before he finds a hole to slip through._ _

_ _Once past, it’s smooth sailing. The house itself is a two-story wooden cabin with green trim, large windows, and a two car garage. A large, black SUV is parked in the driveway next to a small, grey, two-door sedan. Flower beds lay untended around the foundations, overrun with wild growth that choke the remnants of once-loved roses and irises._ _

_ _The first order of business is disabling both vehicles. After checking the windows, Steve creeps across the open lawn and punctures the sidewalls of all eight tires. It takes only a few minutes, but Steve is braced for the sound of a door opening, a shout from a window, or a gunshot at any moment. It’s early enough he expects Dot to still be sleeping, but not the two Feds guarding her._ _

_ _Luck is with him because he’s neither caught, nor shot. Instead, he swings the shotgun off his back and strides toward the front door. The time for stealth has past, so he walks with purpose, each step bringing him closer to his goal. He stops only to rear back and kick in the front door. It swings in, crashing against the wall hard enough that panes fall out and shatter on the floor._ _

_ _Steve crosses the threshold as he takes in an empty entryway, stairs heading upward, a plain white door to his left, and a living room to the right. His next step pivots him toward the living room and the man standing from the plain couch. The shotgun booms at his hip as the man reaches for the holster strapped over an oversized, blue button-down shirt. Blood sprays across the glass coffee table, white standing lamp, and tan carpet as the Fed spins, then falls out of sight._ _

_ _Not about to take chances, Steve points the gun at the stairs while eyeing the closed door as he backs into the room to finish the downed Fed before he takes a bullet in the back. Footsteps pound down the upstairs hallway, but the rest of the cabin is quiet. _ _

_ _Glass crunches under his feet. He breathes in. A door slamming rattles the ceiling. Steve breathes out. _ _

_ _There’s another Fed here. He, or she, isn’t making themselves known. They’re not charging to defend their fellow agent, so either they’re trying to get the drop on him, trying to sneak Dot out, or protecting the rat. All three options are smarter than Steve likes._ _

_ _Steve’s foot comes down on a body part and he breaks his gaze from the stairs and unknown room to look down. There’s no reason to waste ammo; the Fed is dead, a giant hole where his heart had been minutes ago. He reverses course, straining to hear anything above the broken glass he’s walking on and his own heartbeat. _ _

_ _There’s nothing. Just silence. He could try to wait them out, but time is not on his side. Their backup will have been called by now and on the way. It’s a drive, but the clock is ticking._ _

_ _There’s supposed to only be two Feds, but Steve kicks in the mystery room door anyway. His shotgun leads the way inside, but it’s just an empty kitchen. A coffee pot drips on the counter by a half-empty bottle of whiskey. There’s another door Steve thinks leads to the garage and he locks it, just in case._ _

_ _Dot is upstairs with the running feet and silence._ _

_ _Returning to the entryway, Steve takes the stairs slowly, keeping the shotgun pointed at the landing above him. The landing creaks as he steps on to it, but no one fires. He doesn’t see a gun pointed his way, or a Fed down the hall, for that matter. There’s just an empty hallway with a window at the far end and three doors, all closed tight. Either the Fed got Dot out without making a sound, or they’re holed up in one of those rooms, waiting to blow Steve away as he slams through the door._ _

_ _Scowling, Steve considers his options. There aren’t many. Kicking his way in won’t work; he’s lost the element of surprise. They’ll be fortified by now, trained for this kind of situation, if they’re still here at all. The clock is still ticking, so getting into a shootout with a smart officer in a fortified position will only work against him. _ _

_ _Steve also can’t give up. Dot cannot be allowed to testify against them. It’s not just his life on the lin. It’s Natasha, Clint, Tony, Bruce, Wanda, Pietro, and their families. It’s the people under his protection who would die in the war for his territory, or if Hydra took over._ _

_ _He can’t leave and he can’t go forward. So, he has to make them come to him._ _

_ _As quick and silent as he can, Steve retreats back down the stairs. In the kitchen, he grabs the half-empty bottle of alcohol and a dish rag. Luck is still with him as he finds a lighter in the first drawer he checks. By the time he climbs the stairs again, his molotov cocktail is ready. The dishtowel goes up in a flash, black smoke pouring toward the ceiling. _ _

_ _If Dot and the Fed can smell it, it’s already to late. There’s still silence, though. Not a shout or a shot as Steve hurls the bottle down the hall. It crashes and shatters, sending fire splashing against the wooden walls, licking at the doors, and chewing up the floral carpet runner on the floor. _ _

_ _The fire roars, eagerly eating up the old house. Someone shouts unintelligibly and Steve tenses to pull the trigger. When none of the doors open, Steve turns and runs back down the stairs. If they’re not braving the hall, they’re jumping out a window. He swings the shotgun back over his shoulder and pulls out his pistol as he runs. _ _

_ _Only, Steve doesn’t know _which_ window. A cracked glass panel nearly sends Steve skidding as he sprints through the ruined front door. Behind him, the fire grows hotter, sending a column of black smoke into the air. To his left, something crashes through the overgrown plants, and Steve swerves in the direction of the sound, sighting down the barrel, and letting the muzzle guide his way._ _

_ _Around the corner of the house he spies a tall, slim figure with dark hair streaming behind them as they flee into the woods the way Steve had come. His finger tightens on the trigger, but he abandons the shot as the source of the original noise rolls to one knee and lifts a Glock with Steve in its sights._ _

_ _Steve shifts his aim and they fire at the same time. Once, then twice. Two identical red spots bloom on the Fed’s chest, and Steve’s relieved the guy’s not wearing a tactical vest. He’s also surprised to find himself unhurt as they were barely twenty feet from each other. By all rights, he should be dead. He should be dying, like the Fed, trying to breathe through the blood filling his lungs, staring up at the sky for the last time._ _

_ _But he’s not. He shakes himself back into the moment and watches the back of Dot’s head disappear into the woods. Striding forward, he finishes off the Fed, and follows Dot’s traill. The bitch isn’t getting away. Not today._ _

_ _\----_ _

_ _After five minutes that feel like thirty, Bucky is regretting his choice to stay in the car. There’s no cell signal, not that it would be a good idea to use his phone while Steve is nearby killing someone. Someones? Bucky isn’t sure he wants to know._ _

_ _Bucky isn’t sure he wants to be here anymore. Had his dad done this? Waited for Steve to “take care of business?” Had his dad been the one to do it? Would he be out here instead if he hadn’t been murdered?_ _

_ _

_ _It’s turning out that he knew so little about any of this. His father’s work, Steve’s; he didn’t even know why his dad had been killed. Likely, it was over “business.”_ _

_ _God, what a euphemism _that_ was, and now Bucky is a part of it. He’s here and he never once thought of betraying Steve by going to the cops. That makes him an accessory, or something that means the cops will put him away if they find out and he doesn’t give Steve up. And if he does, he’ll become Steve’s “business.”_ _

_ _Closing his eyes, Bucky leans his head against the window pane and tries to stop thinking. Instead, he finds himself thinking about his dream and Steve. He imagines them getting back to the city._ _

_ _Bucky will say, “So do I have a job?”_ _

_ _And Steve will say, “Yeah, there’s something you can do for me,” before pulling him into this bedroom and showing Bucky how he likes to be sucked. Bucky hasn’t done that before, but in his imagination Steve is gentle, guiding him in the right amount of suction and at the perfect pace. His hands cradle Bucky’s head, easing him on and off Steve’s thick cock while he tells Bucky how good he is, how hot his mouth is, and promising to show him pleasures he’s never known if he keeps doing such a good job._ _

_ _A distant boom jolts Bucky from his daydream. Looking around, he doesn’t see anything different. The road is clear ahead and behind the car. Nothing moves in the trees to the left or right no matter how hard he stares. No other sound breaks the stifling tension inside the car. _ _

_ _When he glances at the clock, Bucky sees Steve has been gone for nearly a half-hour. He wishes he’d thought to ask how long Steve would be gone, but it’s too late now. Steve is gone and…_ _

_ _And for the first time since Steve had promised to come back, Bucky is struck by the reality that Steve might _not_ come back. The next person Bucky sees could be a police officer, asking if he’s with the murderer. Hell, Bucky doesn’t even know who Steve is killing, or why. He’s just here, in Steve’s car, alone. Waiting._ _

_ _The need to move, to _run_, fills him so he can’t ignore it, and he gets out of the car. In the distance, something pops once, twice in quick succession. Gunshots? Tree branches falling? A car backfiring? A very drunk person setting off fireworks in the daylight? Bucky doesn’t know. He faces the highway and debates running down there, finding a car to pick him up and take him home where he’ll never tell anyone this ever happened. _ _

_ _But the road had been empty as they’d driven out here. No one is going to pick up some kid on the side of the road either. He’d have to walk all the way home, and that could take days. Besides, Steve had promised to come back. He will, Bucky just has to be patient._ _

_ _Taking a deep breath to center himself, Bucky pauses and sniffs the air again. Was that smoke?_ _

_ _A loud snap comes from Bucky’s right. He spins in that direction, the direction Steve had left in. He doesn’t see anything, but another twig or branch crackles as someone steps on it. Bucky hopes it’s Steve, but he can’t see anything… and what if it isn’t?_ _

_ _That thought holds his tongue, keeping Bucky from calling out. He crouches behind the SUV opposite the sounds he’s heard and is immediately glad he did. The sound of someone running toward him are unmistakable and growing louder by the second. Whoever they are, they’re headless of the noise they’re making. They’re also female, by the sound of the sobs he can hear._ _

_ _Bucky freezes. He _had_ heard gunshots. Steve’s gunshots. Steve had driven this woman to make these desperate, terrified cries. She knew Steve wanted her dead. Steve would be chasing her now._ _

_ _The woman slams against the side of the SUV with a thud. “Please, please,” she gasps as she fumbles with the door handle. It’s locked, but Bucky’s door isn’t._ _

_ __“It’s better to be smart than brave,”_ Steve had said. Bucky just has to keep being smart. _ _

_ _Quietly, Bucky lies down on his stomach and rolls under the SUV. Sure enough, the woman gives up trying to open the driver’s side and heads to the passenger door. When her feet get within reach, Bucky grabs her ankles and yanks with all his might._ _

_ _With a scream, she falls backward and lands hard on the asphalt. Bucky scrambles to get out from beneath the SUV as she groans, but lies unmoving where she fell. Her eyes are open, though, so she isn’t unconscious. Bucky is going to have to tie her up until Steve could get here…_ _

_ _And kill her. _ _

_ _Bucky stares at the woman. She’s older than him, but not by much. Her black hair has come free of its ponytail so it sticks up in the air, or clings to her sweat-beaded face. A glassy look clouds her dark eyes, but they would be beautiful if they weren’t rimmed with red. Sweat and tears have made tracks through black dirt on her cheeks and neck. _ _

_ _He remembers how scared she’d been. Crying. And Bucky doesn’t even know why Steve wants her dead. Has she even done anything? Is he really going to be a part of this?_ _

_ _Bucky takes a step back and shouts as something strikes his ankle, knocking him off his feet. His back hits the ground solidly, punching the air from his lungs. Then she’s on him, screaming incoherently as her hands wrap around his throat. _ _

_ _Frantically, Bucky yanks at her wrists, tries to pull her hands away for just a moment. That’s all he needs to gasp in a breath, just a little air, to fill his starving lungs. But she’s frantic too, still shouting a wordless cry of rage and fear as she chokes the life from him. It hurts so much more than Bucky imagines. His lungs are on fire and his throat’s more than bruised. Her fingernails are gouging his skin and his eyes might pop out of his skull from the pressure building in his skull._ _

_ _Blackness gathers at the edges of his vision and the strength threatens to go out of his fingers. Then there’s a loud pop and the woman stops screaming as she pitches sideways off him. Bucky stares at the crystal blue sky and gasps as air rushes back into his lungs. The darkness fades away and then Steve’s leaning over him, looking (of all things) worried._ _

_ _“Bucky?” he asks and his tone is also concerned. “Are you okay?”_ _

_ _Not trusting his voice to work when his throat hurts so bad, Bucky just nods._ _

_ _Steve’s face hardens, but he says, “Good.”_ _

_ _Then he’s standing and moving away. Bucky forces himself to sit up despite how his lungs are still gasping for air, but he has to see. He can’t look away as Steve walks calmly after the woman. She’s crawling away, leaving a trail of blood that glistens black in the sunlight. She’s sobbing again, but louder, the sound preventing her words from having any meaning. They’re just pleading, begging noises as Steve walks up to her side and kicks her over._ _

_ _“Please!” she wails from her back._ _

_ _Steve could be having a nice dinner the way he says, “Hello, Dot.”_ _

_ _Dot moans, “Please don’t kill me,” but Steve ignores her._ _

_ _“You actually thought you’d get away with it, didn’t you?”_ _

_ _The gun in Steve’s hand goes off. Bucky jumps and Dot screams._ _

_ _“I asked you a question.”_ _

_ _“I didn’t want to,” Dot cries as fresh tears pour down her face. “They said I had to -”_ _

_ _Steve snaps, “You didn’t have to turn on me,” interrupting Dot and making her sob again. “I would have taken care of you. I would have taken care of your brother. But, no. You betrayed me. You betrayed the Avengers.”_ _

_ _“No, no, no…”_ _

_ _The calm, cold demeanor Steve wore breaks and he shouts, “Freddie is dead because of you!”_ _

_ _Bucky is falling again. He can’t breathe. He can only stare as Steve grabs Dot by the hair and yanks her up. Blood covers her stomach, staining her yellow top a red he’s only seen in movies before._ _

_ _Steve jabs a finger at Bucky._ _

_ _“That’s Freddie’s kid, Dot. Freddie is dead ‘cause Nat was chasing down a mole - chasing down _you_ \- and not watching his back! That’s on you. His _death_ is on _you_.”_ _

_ _Dot shakes her head and sobs, “No, no, no,” but it doesn’t affect Bucky anymore. Hate and rage burn in him the same way his lungs had burned when she’d tried to kill him. Only he can breathe now and she soon won’t._ _

_ _“Please,” Dot begs. “I’ll disappear. No one will find me. I won’t testify! I won’t!”_ _

_ _Bucky looks at Steve and feels an odd calm stealing over him as eyes as bright as the sky above them look calmly back._ _

_ _“No, you won’t.”_ _

_ _Dot’s eyes fill with terror and Bucky smiles at Steve. A moment later, the gun goes off a third, and final, time. Now there’s nothing in her eyes at all as she falls sideways to lie unmoving on the black asphalt in her own blood._ _

_ _Steve must move because he’s suddenly at Bucky’s side, helping him to his feet._ _

_ _“You killed her,” Bucky hears himself say._ _

_ _All Steve says is, “Yeah,” but it’s enough. Dot is dead. It doesn’t bring back his dad, but it feels _good_._ _

_ _“You’ll kill the guy that pulled the trigger, too?”_ _

_ _Steve’s helped him into the car and is about to shut the door. He pauses and looks at Bucky again. Bucky isn’t sure what he sees, but the worry in his eyes vanishes and he looks… pleased._ _

_ _“And the man that sent him,” Steve says._ _

_ _Bucky sits back in his seat and nods as Steve closes his door. A knot comes lose in Bucky’s chest. His dad is dead, but everyone responsible will pay for that. Steve is going to _make_ them pay. Bucky hopes they all die bloody and afraid. Just like Dot._ _


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky thinks he should say something as they drive home, but he can’t think of anything. Or he thinks of several things, but they all sound stupid in his head. Steve seems fine to drive in silence despite the lengthy trip. So they do that, the only sounds the road beneath the tires and Steve’s C.D.s - incredible vocalists singing grand tales that Bucky hasn’t ever heard before. Bucky likes it more than he expects.

Not that he’d have said anything if he’d hated it. 

So he says nothing and learns that Steve likes folk ballads and smells like gunpowder. The smell of it fills the car and reminds Bucky that he’d wanted a woman to get her brains blow out. His dad would be disappointed, but his dad isn’t here.

They pull up before Bucky’s house well into the evening. Bucky is starving. A night in Steve’s trunk, plus a day bouncing around in it, had left him with nothing to eat. Steve had got him a doughnut that morning, but the hasn’t eaten since. Unfortunately, Bucky doesn’t expect his mom will let him eat any time soon. Not when he hadn’t told her where he would be, or that he wouldn’t be home.

“Natasha spoke to her.” Steve’s quiet voice startles Bucky so he whips around to look at him too fast. He’s smiling, though; like he finds something funny. “She thinks you’ve been hanging out with friends. You know, something safe.”

All Bucky can think to say is, “Oh.”

“You’re welcome.”

Bucky flushes at the laughter in Steve’s voice.

“Thanks.”

Not wanting to give Steve more reasons to laugh at him, he climbs out of the car. Only, when the door shuts, does he realize that Steve had never said he could be an Avenger. Spinning, he knocks on the window. Part of him expects Steve to just drive away, but the glass rolls down and Steve looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Do I have a job, then?” Bucky asks.

The way Steve smiles at him makes Bucky think the answer will be yes. 

“God, no.”

Steve puts the car in gear and is driving away before Bucky’s heart drops into his stomach. No? How can the answer still be no? After what he’d seen? The way Steve had been pleased? 

Bucky stares after Steve until the tail lights turn the corner and disappear. He clenches his teeth and turns to walk inside. No isn’t an answer he’s going to take. He’ll keep proving himself until Steve sees what an asset he can be. He’ll make Steve Rogers change his mind if it’s the last thing he does.

\----

Steve expects to see Bucky again. This kid is stubborn to a fault; watching a murder hadn’t been enough to deter him. Steve’s equally determined to deny Bucky his desire, though. Freddie’s memory’s still part of that - the guy _died_ for Steve, the least he can do is respect his wishes for his family - but it’s more than that now. 

Word had spread about Bucky’s trip in Steve’s trunk and has reached most of the organization by the end of the next day. Some find Bucky’s antics amusing. Others think Steve’s going soft by leaving Bucky alive. Killing two feds and Dog has only served as a reprieve, as the real threat to the Avengers’ territory is walking about without paying any consequences for Freddie’s death. His power’s unstable until Pierce is dealt with, and Bucky - beautiful, brilliant, brave Bucky - hasn’t helped. When he shows again, Steve will have to deal with him once and for all, or lose more face with dangerous people.

“You could just offer him a job.”

Steve gives Natasha Romanoff a withering look. Instead of cowering, her red lips smirk at him over the rim of her glass. Her ability to read people is invaluable, but he hates it when she turns her skills on him.

“Would it really be so bad? You said he was smart.”

“Freddie-”

Natasha snorts, interrupting Steve before he can start.

“Steve, I loved Freddie too, but you and I both know he’d be proud of the kid. Mad as hell, but proud.”

By way of answer, Steve pours himself another glass of scotch. Natasha doesn’t push, knowing she’s taken the conversation as far as she safely can with the crowd around them. The bar is full again now that the heat is off. The Aveners’ inner circle, as well as their underlings, are celebrating Steve’s win. At least, that’s their excuse. Part of his crew are always looking for any weakness, any way to climb the ladder, or “prove” themselves. Like Bucky, some would do whatever they have to in order to get ahead. Unlike Bucky, those with the most ambition can’t be trusted. That’s the life, and Steve can only be sure of so many people. 

Natasha is one of his inner circle, as are Clint Barton, Peggy Carter, Sharon Carter, and Tony Stark. Natasha is in charge of the Avengers’ smuggling operations, getting their hot goods all over the counter, or into it as necessary. Tony operates the best chop-shop in New York, paying for stolen cars and selling the parts all with a mobile operation that is sheer genius. Sharon handles their weapons deals, while Peggy takes care of the brothels. Steve handles the money himself, employing a multitude of business that would be on the up-and-up if he hadn’t been laundering the Avengers’ cash through them.

His inner circle have their own guys, who have their own guys, and so on. Only the top two levels are allowed to meet like this, though. The rest are kept compartmentalized as the lower levels are the most likely to get pinched, and the likeliest to flip. Nearly everyone is loyal though. Steve likes to find people like Freddie Barnes, down and out, but used to a hard life, and willing to do anything for their family. He’d laid down his life knowing Steve would take care of anyone he left behind. And Steve has. He’s paid off their house, the car, and tuition. Only Bucky remains an unpaid debt.

Steve sighs and Natasha pats his arm fondly. Sometimes he swears she’s actually psychic.

\----

Bucky’s prepared to argue, or even fight his way in, when he gets back to the warehouse, bar, whatever all the Avengers do in this particular building. Clint takes one look at him, rolls his eyes so hard his entire body moves, and walks to the door. He doesn’t walk Bucky in, either, just turns and waves vaguely at the red-headed girl who is, again, sitting at the table playing cards with her twin. 

“Oh, you stupid mother-fucker,” the silver-haired boy says as he lays eyes on him.

His sister frowns at him.

“You know he lost his dad, right? You could be nice. I think he’s tenacious.”

The electronic lock turns green and Bucky tries to tune them out as it opens. Clint has already walked away, footsteps barely audible on the concrete steps. Past the door is noise and smoke and laughter. Inside, the boy snaps, “Shut up. You don’t even know what tenacious means.”

They don’t get up, so Bucky walks through the door and feels it close behind him, blocking out the rest of their squabbling. The room is crowded; over thirty people sit at tables or have gathered around the bar. Everyone is dressed to impress, as if this is a high society party instead of a gathering of mobsters. Only the obvious gun holsters give it away. Bucky’s certain he’s the only unarmed person in the whole building.

And he’s sweating. Which is _not_ professional. Discreetly, he tries to wipe his forehead, but he honestly isn’t sure anyone’s paying him any attention. 

And then _everyone_ is paying him attention as someone shouts over the rumble of the crowd, “Hey! It’s Freddie’s kid!”

Bucky swallows. The sea of people parts before him, backing up while staring their fill, so there’s a clear line of sight between Bucky at the door and Steve Rogers behind the bar. If looks could kill, Bucky would be skewered. And yet, Steve just calmly sips from his glass while the tension in the air thickens.

“I, uh, um.” Bucky’s voice cracks and he clears his throat. “I mean, I’ve come for a job, Mister Rogers.”

Bucky doesn’t think Steve has blinked.

“And it seems you’ve been let right in,” he says. His tongue flashes out, licking the alcohol from his lower lip, and Bucky almost forgets he’s in danger. “Interesting.”

A woman at Steve’s side says his name softly, but stops as he lifts a hand. 

“Everyone out.”

Like their ties are cut, the gathered criminals quickly gather their things. Though no one runs, they hurry out the door, flowing around Bucky like a wave. Someone pats his shoulder.

At last, the door closes and Bucky swallows. Steve watches him over his glass, blue eyes dark and dangerous. Maybe Bucky _is_ pushing his luck. Maybe he should have stayed away. But he wants this. He wants to be a part of it so badly his teeth hurt. He wants Steve to look at him again and be pleased.

Which is not how Steve looks now. Yet, Bucky can’t help but admire him, the way he’s using silence to make Bucky squirm, staring at him without blinking while he pours another glass of amber liquid. He sips, then places a rather large, serrated knife of the bar.

Bucky swallows again.

“You have until I finish this drink to leave.”

Oh yeah, this is a terrible idea, but Bucky isn’t leaving. Lifting his chin as his heart beats rapidly, he waits. Steve meets his eyes, shakes his head, and downs his drink in one go.

“Fine.” He picks up the knife, hops the bar, and goes straight for Bucky. “You need to be taught a lesson.” 

Steve striding so purposefully toward Bucky with such a huge weapon nearly sends Bucky running. But he locks his legs, clenches his fists, and doesn’t cry out as Steve grabs a fistful of his hair. The knife taps his cheek, then trails down to his throat. Bucky holds absolutely still. 

“You want a job, okay. Pretty boy like you will make me a lot of money. Oh the things men are going to do to you…” Steve’s gaze lingers on Bucky’s throat. “But you won’t listen to what’s good for you, will you?”

Bucky trembles. Steve is so angry and he can’t tell if he’s just trying to scare Bucky, or… or if he means it. He almost apologizes then. He almost tells Steve he’ll go. 

Then Steve says, “But first I’m going to have a taste of what I’m selling,” and all Bucky can think is, ‘_Oh, yes please_.’

\----

Using Bucky’s hair, Steve yanks him back to the bar. His heart is pounding, anger coursing through his veins. He doesn’t want to hurt Bucky, but the kid just won’t _learn_. He won’t _listen_. Steve has to scare him enough he’ll stay away. Bucky grunts as he’s slammed into the bar, but he isn’t fighting Steve. Not when Steve keeps the knife so close to his skin, a cold reminder that Bucky’s life is forfeit if Steve wants to take it. He doesn’t, but Bucky can’t know that, not if this is going to work. 

Bringing the blade back to Bucky’s throat, Steve slowly drags it down the tendon in Bucky’s neck until the tip is just above his shirt collar. A bead of sweat drips down Bucky’s Adam’s apple as he cuts the shirt in half with a quick, smooth stroke. Bucky gasps, reaching back to grab the bar. Steve lets himself do what he wanted that day in the hotel; he squeezes Bucky’s left pec, then tweaks his nipple. Bucky cries out in surprise, so Steve pinches it between his fingers and pulls.

“And you’re sensitive,” he says. “They’ll like that when they’re fucking you.”

Bucky trembles and Steve has to remind himself that this is for the kid’s own good. He’ll leave Bucky naked and terrified, then make Clint drive the kid home. He’ll go back to school and lead a normal life, just like Freddie wanted.

Pressing the dull edge of the knife against Bucky’s skin, Steve runs it down his chest to his waist. The breath is ragged in Bucky’s chest, loud in the empty room, and he looks like he’s going to pass out. Bucky’s belt parts effortlessly under the knife’s serrated edge, and Steve holds Bucky’s gaze as he rips it from his pants. Steve brushes the skin just above his pants, then sticks two fingers into Bucky’s waist band. The skin from his hip to his groin is warm and soft, twitching under his touch. When his fingers reach the button holding the pants up, Steve parts the thread like butter and makes himself smirk as Bucky’s breath hitches.

A hard tug outward and the zipper parts with a harsh buzz. Bucky nearly passes out then, if the way he dips, knees threatening to go out means anything. His arms tremble as he pushes himself upright again. He hasn’t said a word, though, just stared with his eyes dilated with fear as Steve takes his clothes apart piece by piece.

Jeans aren’t easy to shred, so Steve grabs a fistful of fabric by Bucky’s thigh and pulls downward. The pants lose their grip on Bucky’s round ass and fall, pooling on the floor. Steve’s heart pounds, anger turning into something uglier that claws at his stomach, but smiles his cruelest smile as he presses his blade to Bucky’s thigh. 

“You’re gonna be sweet.” He draws the blade higher, inch by inch. “But I’m not going to be gentle; you’re going to take it. That’s your job now.”

Steve’s wrist brushes the bottom of Bucky’s white underwear… and then brushes against something else. Something pulsing, hot and damp. Looking down, Steve’s shocked to find Bucky hard and leaking into his shorts. He’s so shocked, he loses character entirely, his mouth hanging open.

“Are you _joking_?!” he blurts.

Nervously, Bucky says, “Y-you wanted a taste…”

Steve can’t believe it. Only… he can. It hasn’t been fear in Bucky’s eyes; it’s _lust_. Steve had been too angry to remember how Bucky said his name in their hotel bed. He’d been too busy reassuring himself that he had misread all of Bucky’s expressions, each tick of his breath, and twitch of his muscle. 

Stepping back, Steve covers his mouth and laughs. Instantly, Bucky turns a brilliant shade of red. It travels up his neck to cover his face while also crawling down his chest, to his belly. Steve watches, trying to get a hold of himself, and realizes he has Bucky nearly naked and willing in his bar. 

Alone. Willing. Turned on by Steve’s rough handling.

_Fuck_.

Steve swallows, his amusement gone. 

Bucky must notice because he says, “Y-you could. I’ll be good- sweet, for you.”

And he would be, Christ. Steve feels his dick twitch at the thought and yanks his gaze back to Bucky’s face. 

“You ever had sex before, kid?”

The ‘kid’ has Bucky bristling, but he lifts his chin proudly again.

“I wanna learn from you.”

Incredulous, Steve points the knife at him. “You’re fucking unhinged. I was trying to _scare_ you, not rape you.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Bucky insists. He’s let go of the bar to step forward, palms out pleadingly. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I need… I need you to teach me. To be strong and calm and smart. Like you. _Please_, Steve. I want you, sure, who wouldn’t, but what I _ really_ want is to work for you. I’ll earn my place, I swear. I’ll be the best you’ve ever had, just give me a shot.”

“Christ,” Steve mumbles and shoves his hand through his hair. “_Why_? Why me? Why not respect your father’s wishes?”

The mention of his father has Bucky’s cock deflating and Steve’s grateful for that, if not what Bucky says next.

“If my dad hadn’t died, I’d be doing what he wanted. Going to school, going to college, that whole thing. But he _did_ die. He died and I met you, and now I know this is something I can have. Something I _want_.” Frustration crosses Bucky’s face, but he doesn’t quit. “I want _you_. You make me feel safe, even when I shouldn’t. You’re strong and you’re smart and my dad respected you like no one else. Please don’t turn me away.”

Steve hates how that tugs at his heart. He isn’t supposed to have a heart, but here they are. He curses under his breath and drops the knife onto the nearest table. Then he gestures for Bucky to come closer and, when he has, wraps him in a hug. 

His hair smells like cucumber.

“You’re fuckin’ stupid, you know that?” 

Bucky laughs, but holds Steve tightly, burying his face in Steve’s chest.

“Sorry if I made a fool of myself,” he mumbles.

Shaking his head, Steve straightens and rubs Bucky’s arms.

“Nah. If you weren’t so young, this interaction would be ending in my bedroom.”

Bucky’s eyes spark, his chin lifts, and Steve wants to punch himself in the face.

“It still could.”

“Bucky…” Steve says tiredly.

“I want it. I want you.” This time Steve puts a warning into the tone he uses to say Bucky’s name, but that doesn’t work either. The kid’s like a dog with a bone once he sets his sights on something. “I told you, I’ll be good for you. Just like you want. You can show me how you like it and I’ll do it just how you want.” 

Steve takes in a breath through his nose. Oh, it sounds so good. Taking Bucky to his bedroom in the back, pulling him onto the bed and showing him how good sex can be between two men. Spreading those firm thighs, sinking into him, maybe enjoying his pink, plump lips first…

The smile that pulls at Bucky’s lips says he thinks he’s won.

“Come on. Let’s be gay and do crime.”

It makes Steve laugh hard enough he thinks, _fuck it_, and catches Bucky by the jaw. He lifts enough to throw Bucky off balance so he can’t do anything but stand there as Steve kisses him, not if he doesn’t want to fall over or hurt himself. Being as Bucky is smart as hell, he only moves to hold onto Steve, and whimpers when all Steve does is press their lips together.

“You’re a menace.”

Breathlessly, Bucky asks, “Is that a yes?” and Steve is laughing again. He hasn’t laughed this much in a long time. 

Gentling his hold on Bucky, Steve trails his fingers fondly over Bucky’s jaw. “No,” he sighs, “You’re seventeen. Be happy with the job.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Come and visit Cleo on... places...**  
Tumblr: [@cleo4u2](http://cleo4u2.tumblr.com)  
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